The confession, p.27
The Confession, page 27
“I’ll get locked up.”
“And you know you have to make the payments through the clerk of court’s office, not directly to your ex-wife?”
“Yeah, I done that before.”
“About three or four times and then stopped,” Holt reminded him.
“It’s goin’ to be different this time.” The defendant glanced sideways at Maddie.
“Deputy Carmichael is going to monitor it and let me know. Don’t mess this up.”
“Yeah.”
Holt had doubts as he watched the couple walk away. His greatest fear was that Mickey would see his three months of grace as an opportunity to skip town and abandon his family. Fathers behind in child support weren’t considered high-priority fugitives. Most of the time, they were caught through tips like the one that sent Holt and Trish to the Jenkins house. Holt didn’t want another face-to-face encounter with the wrong end of a shotgun.
Toward the end of the day, he got a call from Dr. Wade.
“Come get your beast,” the veterinarian said. “If he’s well enough to snap at my staff, he’s healthy enough to go back to protecting your property.”
“He was weak and whiny when I saw him yesterday.”
“That’s not the dog who woke up this morning and spent an hour or so gnawing the bars of his cage. He couldn’t bite his way through the metal, but a flesh-and-blood finger would be a different story. Although he’s definitely on the mend, it will be weeks before he’s back to normal. You have a fenced-in backyard, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where he needs to be, and let’s hope the brother or sister of the snake he killed doesn’t come looking for revenge.”
Holt swiped his credit card to pay the bill. Treatment for multiple snake bites was twice a monthly car payment. Henry tried to lick Holt’s face as his master carried him to the car.
“You’ll never be like Peps,” Holt said, “and you can show your gratitude by staying out of fights that could kill you and put me into bankruptcy.”
Henry sat up in the seat and looked out the window. When they reached the house, he slowly hopped out of the car and walked to the backyard fence. The dog sniffed up and down the fence, stopping at the place where the construction workers had draped the dead copperhead over the metal chain links. Holt knelt beside him. There was a deep rumbling in Henry’s throat.
“Yes, you killed the snake,” Holt said quietly. “And if it was still here I bet you’d drag it onto the deck and gnaw on it some more.”
Holt stood up and opened the gate. Still moving gingerly, Henry went into the backyard. A squirrel scampered across the grass, but the dog showed no interest in it. Dr. Wade was right. It was going to take awhile for Henry’s killer instinct to recover.
Trish returned to the sheriff’s department and vigorously pounded the letters on her keyboard as she prepared a memo for the file. By the time she finished, she’d calmed down. One thing that helped was recognizing that her frustration was directed more at Holt than at Mickey Dorman. Trish, too, hoped Mickey had changed for the better. If he had, it would make her job easier and mean his children had food on the table and clothes on their bodies. And unlike Holt, Trish hadn’t recently come to believe in God’s ability to transform a bad person into a good person.
Butch Clovis stopped by her cubicle.
“I understand you were in court this morning,” the detective said.
“Yes. And I talked briefly with Holt Douglas. Did you know Ralph Granger ordered him to drop the investigation into Mr. Meredith’s death?”
“No.” Clovis shook his head. “And don’t talk so loudly. What exactly did Douglas say?”
Trish lowered her voice. “Mr. Granger doesn’t want the newspaper to get wind of the existence of an investigation and told Holt to leave it alone. That’s about it.”
She didn’t include Holt’s apology.
“Are you sure there wasn’t anything else?” the detective asked.
“No. He was running the calendar call by himself so there wasn’t much time to talk.”
“Okay. What are you going to do if you catch wind of Douglas ignoring Granger’s orders and snooping around town?”
“Tell you about it immediately?”
“That’s right.”
After Clovis left, Trish went to the restroom and washed her hands. Regardless of the tone and substance of the conversation, the detective made her feel unclean.
As soon as her shift ended, she called Sue Ann to see if she could stop by on her way home from work.
“I guess so,” Sue Ann replied.
“If you’re busy I can make it another—”
“Don’t be silly,” Sue Ann quickly added. “What do you think I’m doing? Lying on a Swedish massage table getting a hot stone treatment?”
“Didn’t you get one of those on your honeymoon?”
“No, but I read about it yesterday in a magazine. The only massage in my future is when I lie on the floor and let Candy pretend I’m an alligator while she walks on my back.”
“Is she awake?”
“No, still down for her nap. It’s a perfect time for you to visit. Don’t knock. I’ll unlock the door for you.”
In a few minutes, Trish carefully opened the front door of the apartment and went inside. Sue Ann was sitting in the living room with her feet propped up on an ottoman.
“My energy level is way down,” Sue Ann said. “My body is beginning to focus more and more on manufacturing this new baby.”
“Any morning sickness? I know that was bad when you were pregnant with Candace.”
Sue Ann stuck her finger in her mouth and nodded. “Mark is leaving for work fifteen minutes earlier than usual so he won’t have to listen to me gag.”
“That’s terrible.”
“No, he can’t do anything to help me, and I don’t want him to carry an image of his wife leaning over a toilet with him all day. By the time he gets home in the evening, I’m ready for pizza and tacos with chocolate syrup and ice cream.”
Trish smiled. “You’re my hero.”
“And I’m riding on your romantic coattails. What did Keith give you at the party? I know he had something special because I saw him slip a little gold box into his pocket. It wasn’t a ring, because that was the first thing I checked when you walked through the door.”
“I’m not ready for that,” Trish said, “but he gave me this.”
She slipped out the pendant and leaned closer so Sue Ann could see it.
“Do you like it?” Sue Ann asked.
“Of course. He didn’t get me something generic. He put a lot of thought into it.”
“I know, but I wanted to make sure you realized it, too.”
Trish eyed the pendant again, then slipped it beneath her shirt.
“So, does this mean Holt Douglas has been dumped on the ash heap of lost-love history?” Sue Ann asked.
“Buried and covered over without a trace.”
“I had questions about him all along,” Sue Ann said. “I wanted to support you, but I wasn’t sure the reality matched the fantasy you’d created in your mind.”
“Your intuition was one hundred percent accurate. I wish you’d told me.”
“Would it have done any good?”
“Probably not,” Trish admitted. “Now my focus is on seeing where the relationship with Keith is headed.”
“Tell me more about that dream home he’s building for you. He’s sounding more and more romantic by the hour.”
Trish hesitated. She glanced around the apartment.
“Don’t let where we’re sitting right now stop you,” Sue Ann said. “Remember, we’re good enough friends that I would be happy for you to have a beautiful home even if I have to wait.”
“Okay,” Trish said somewhat reluctantly. “The first thing I told him was that he needed to expand the kitchen . . .”
36
Saturday morning Henry remained lethargic. He slowly walked out onto the deck when Holt opened the door but didn’t navigate the steps to go down into the yard. Instead, he was content to spend his time watching his world without interacting with it. Sitting on the deck and drinking a cup of coffee, Holt decided on a plan of action.
He went back inside the house and put on a T-shirt, jogging shorts, and running shoes, then loaded Henry into the car. The dog wasn’t up for a run, or even a slow jog, but there was a place Holt could take him that might stimulate the dog without taxing his strength.
In the middle of the most affluent section of Paxton was a neighborhood park that included a rose garden, a playground made from treated redwood, and a series of short walking trails beneath large shade trees. Normally, Holt wouldn’t consider taking Henry to the park because the dog wanted to run, not walk. But like a retirement home resident recovering from hip surgery, Henry’s exposure to the outdoors needed to be parceled out in small bits. Holt parked in a shaded spot beneath a large sugar maple tree.
Henry sniffed the air and wiggled his body. He didn’t pull on the leash but waited for Holt. They walked toward a rose garden planted around a sundial. The sun wasn’t high enough in the sky to cast a shadow, but Henry located an interesting smell at the base of the sundial, and Holt waited while the dog sniffed around the area. There was the sound of footsteps on the pea gravel walkway, and Holt turned around.
It was Angelina.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.
“I needed a quiet place to walk and think before going to the salon,” Angelina replied. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No, it was a stupid question.”
“I didn’t think smart lawyers asked stupid questions.”
“This one does.”
Holt waited for Angelina to move on, but she stayed put. Henry inched forward stiffly and sniffed her foot.
“He’s moving slow this morning,” Angelina observed.
“He has five or six good reasons.”
“What happened to him?”
Holt told Angelina about Henry and the copperhead. Angelina’s eyes got bigger and bigger, which made Holt’s heart ache. He stretched the story out as long as he could.
“I’m glad he’s okay,” she said when Holt finished. “How are you doing?”
“Right now, I’m feeling very sorry that I hurt you.”
“Is that an apology?”
Holt thought about the difference between repentance and regret. “Not a good one,” he replied. “But I’d like to do it better.”
Angelina glanced down at the path for a moment. “Did you know the blond deputy came by the salon and talked to me?”
“Not until after she did it.”
“It was very strange. She flashed her badge to Brittany and forced me to leave a customer. Then she claimed there was nothing between the two of you and wanted me to talk you into letting her continue to work on some kind of case. When she showed up, I thought something horrible had happened to you, and they’d sent someone from the sheriff’s office to tell me.”
Holt winced. “I’m sorry—”
“No,” Angelina interrupted. “It showed me that I still cared. And after meeting the deputy, I knew she wasn’t your type.”
“You’re my type,” Holt said.
“How sure are you about that?”
“Enough that I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove it.”
Angelina smiled slightly.
“Is that a yes?” Holt asked.
“Maybe. Although the fact that I followed you all the way over here from your house should tell you something.”
“You did?”
Angelina nodded. “I was coming to see you and saw you pull out of your driveway.”
They sat on a bench and talked until it was time for Angelina to leave for work.
Sunday morning Holt returned to Bishop Pennington’s church. Knowing what to expect helped him enjoy the service. As soon as the minister finished the sermon, Holt slipped out and returned home. There was an unfamiliar car with its hood raised parked in front of his house. Holt slowed down. The driver turned and Holt saw his face.
It was Cecil Burkdale.
Holt pulled into his driveway. Getting out, he walked over to Burkdale’s vehicle, an older car with multiple dents and faded paint on the trunk. Burkdale lowered the window as Holt approached.
“Do you want me to call a wrecker?” Holt asked.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with my car. I didn’t want anyone who drove by to think I was waiting for you.”
“Why are you here?”
“We need to talk.”
“I’ve shut down my investigation into Mr. Meredith’s death,” Holt interrupted. “It’s over. There’s nothing for us to talk about.”
“Yes, there is,” Burkdale replied, looking into his rearview mirror. “And unless you want someone else to die, you need to listen to me.”
Holt leaned closer to the vehicle. When he did, he saw a pistol lying on the seat beside Burkdale.
“Why do you have a gun in your car?”
“I have a permit. Are you going to talk to me or not?”
Holt hesitated. Seventy-five percent of his mind wanted to send Burkdale on his way. The other twenty-five percent lobbied for the chance to evaluate the strange man’s story one last time. As with politics, the majority doesn’t always rule.
“Okay, but I have a sick dog and can’t waste an afternoon listening to you vent about losing your job with Meredith Enterprises.”
“Meet me in fifteen minutes at the farm equipment store on the Madison Highway. I’ll be parked behind one of the big combines.”
“Why there?”
“It’s closed on Sunday, but it’s not unusual for people to stop by and check out the machinery without a salesman on hand to hassle them. Are you coming?”
“I guess so.”
“Lower the hood? I don’t want to get out.”
Feeling like that quarter of his mind had convinced the rest of him to go temporarily insane, Holt walked around to the front of Burkdale’s vehicle. The engine was dirty; the battery posts corroded. If Burkdale didn’t start taking care of his car, he wouldn’t have to pretend to be disabled on the side of the road. Holt shut the hood with a thud. Burkdale started the engine and took off, coming dangerously close to Holt’s feet. Holt jumped back and stared at the rapidly disappearing car.
When Holt looked into the backyard, there was no sign of Henry on the deck. Holt quickly scanned the open grassy area and didn’t see the dog. His concern for Henry immediately took precedence over Burkdale’s wild claim that someone’s life was in danger.
“Henry!” Holt called out. “Henry!”
A few seconds later, a faint woof came from the rear of the yard. In a couple of seconds, Henry emerged from the thick bushes along the back fence line. He shook himself and trotted over to Holt, who squatted down to pat the dog. A quick inspection revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
“Don’t be going into the bushes looking for trouble,” Holt scolded the dog. “You don’t know what might be in there.”
As soon as the words were out of Holt’s mouth, he knew that was exactly what he was about to do.
Trish and Keith sat next to each other in Sunday school and the church service that followed. Now, in the eyes of the whole congregation, they were officially a couple, a fact that Trish was becoming more and more comfortable with.
They’d spent Friday evening together at Trish’s house. After supper, Marge pretended to be tired and went to her bedroom so they could be alone. Trish chuckled as her mother shut the door.
“She’s not going to sleep,” Trish said. “She’ll often stay up and watch a baseball game until after midnight, even if it goes to extra innings. I promise she’ll listen to the game on the radio in her bedroom.”
“Should we leave so she can see it on TV?” Keith asked.
“No, it’s fun for her to make a small sacrifice for someone else’s happiness.”
“That’s neat,” Keith said and then looked at Trish. “Does being with me make you happy?”
Trish could finally give him an answer without a tortured inner debate.
“Yes, it does.”
Keith stayed for several hours. Much of that time he asked Trish questions. She didn’t mind talking about herself but wondered why he kept directing the conversation back to her. Finally, she asked him.
“Why do you want to talk about me all the time?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Trish felt herself blush. “Well, I want to talk about you for a while.”
It was the first time Trish had intentionally stepped into Keith’s world. She already knew a lot about his family, but as he talked, more and more came out, especially about his relationship with his father. Jack Pierce rarely came to church. Like Keith, he traveled in his job. Everybody said they were alike in many ways.
“Yeah, last month my father rented an apartment in Cartersville,” Keith said.
“Why would he do that?”
“His company made a big sale to a carpet company, and he’ll be in charge of installing the equipment. It will take about a year to finish, and he didn’t want to run back and forth all the time.”
Trish felt sad for Bonita Pierce, who was such a cheerful woman. Keith’s little sister was attending college in South Carolina, so with Keith on the road, it meant his mother would be alone most of the time.
“I’ll probably stop by and see him when I’m in the area,” Keith said.
“Won’t he come home on the weekends?”
“No, for the first month it’s a seven-day-a-week commitment.”
Keith seemed momentarily lost in his own thoughts.
“Hey,” he said, shaking his head, “would you and your mother like to drive over to the Wayfarer for dinner after church?”
“I’ll ask her, but I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
Sunday afternoon they stopped at Trish’s house to drop off Keith’s car before traveling together to the restaurant. Keith sat in the passenger seat with Marge behind him. Trish glanced in the rearview mirror. Her mother had a contented look on her face.
